


New Year's Eve

by Bubblegumbisexual



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Eventual Sex, First Time, Jealous John, M/M, New Year's Eve, Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Protective John, Virgin Sherlock, cross-dressing, implied I Love You
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9465860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubblegumbisexual/pseuds/Bubblegumbisexual
Summary: John and Sherlock head to a New Year's Eve party posing as a Sugar Daddy and sugar baby in order to catch a thief. A little bit about the case, mostly about the aftermath of seeing Sherlock in a skirt.





	1. It's for a case, John

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of hints a Mystrade but nothing intense. May eventually hint at MyLock, but mostly from pinning!Mycroft POV and nothing explicit in that area. Overwhelmingly JohnLock

John couldn’t quite pass the threshold of Sherlock and his 221B Baker street apartment when he saw Sherlock pacing in the sitting room. He just stood there, his mouth agape, and his eyebrows arched high in surprise and confusion. When Sherlock noticed him, he stopped pacing. Still, John stood there, looking exactly the same, or possibly even more taken aback because the reason for his shock was not Sherlock’s pacing--no, Sherlock did that quite often as he tried to burn off his incessant energy--but because of what Sherlock was wearing. John could see it now perfectly, not blurred by Sherlock’s quick pace, now perfectly still, directly in front of him.  
Black velvet thigh high high-heeled boots covered Sherlock lanky legs and exposed an inch of his milk white skin at the top. The top of his thighs, apart from that sliver of heaven, were covered in a plaid, pleated, woolen skirt. The waistband of the skirt reached slightly above the crest of Sherlock’s hips. Here, he had tucked in a frilled black dress shirt. The even more surprising part of the ensemble was that the shirt’s neck line plummeted down the center of Sherlock’s chest, which wasn’t flat. Certainly not flat. Sherlock also sported a full face of makeup, a perfect contour and cranberry lips. The make up at his eyes was clean, a simple wing of eyeliner stoked across and mascara applied to decadently long lashes.   
“Glasses or no?” Sherlock asked, placing simple, black, rectangular frames onto the bridge of his nose and then removing them.  
“Sherlock, I wasn’t aware that you um,” John paused, not sure exactly what was happening. Was Sherlock a cross-dresser? That didn’t seem quite right; he’d lived with the man long enough that surely he would have noticed if he were. Sherlock was staring at him, silent, watching as the gears in John’s head turned and creaked. Finally, Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“It’s for a case, John.” He put the glasses away, deciding against them.  
“A case?” John’s brain was being a bit slow, still dumbfounded by Sherlock’s appearance, something about it causing a feeling John didn’t quite understand.   
“Yes, we have to infiltrate a party.”  
“Sherlock, It’s New Year’s Eve. Can’t we just open some bubbly and count down? We could watch the fireworks.” Sherlock just looked at him.  
“John, you do realize you’re talking to a man who drugged his entire family on Christmas day in order to work on a case, correct?” John nodded, now realizing there was no getting out of this.   
“If we’re infiltrating a party, why are you dressed like a woman? And where in bloody hell did you get those things.” John was gesturing obscenely to the breasts that he was positive Sherlock hadn’t magically grown while he’d been at the surgery.   
“Online.” Sherlock said simply. “Do they look fake?” He asked, his eyes wide with worry. John ran a hand through his gold and silver hair.   
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “nope, they don’t.” Sherlock sighed with relief.   
“You need to get dressed or we’re going to be late.” Suddenly, a terrifying thought rushed through John’s mind.   
“Am I going to have to dress as a woman?” Sherlock laughed.  
“God no, of course not. You couldn’t pull it off.” John’s brow furrowed.   
“What do you mean I couldn’t pull it off? You’re six feet tall. I’m much more in proportion with a woman than you.” His brain caught up to his mouth as he said it and deep blush rose to his cheeks.  
“True,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, his templed fingers hanging in the air in front of his face. He was trying not to touch his face, not wanting to smudge the hours of work it had taken to get everything right. “But, I’m slimmer and more lithe, plus, these--” he gestured at his breasts, “--and this skirt give the illusion of curves and my shoes give the false idea that these heels are where I’ve gained my height.”  
“What do you mean ‘false’” John asked, circling behind Sherlock to look at the shoes.   
“It’s a fake heel, meaning on the outside it appears as though there is a heel, but inside there is none.”  
“You mean to tell me your ass looks like that without a high heel?” John asked before he could stop himself. His mouth kept getting ahead of his brain.  
“You mean you haven’t noticed before?” Sherlock feigned hurt, but then looked at John, smirking. He was joking. John let out a grateful sigh. Sherlock had been joking.  
“Apparently not.” He had noticed Sherlock’s perfect arse, of course, there was no missing it, but it had never been on display quite like this before, and before John could stop the thought, he wondered what Sherlock was wearing beneath the incredibly short skirt.  
“John, stop drooling and get dressed. You’re posing as my sugar daddy,” Sherlock winked, a lick of devilishness in his smile. Then he turned, leading the way up to John’s room.   
On John’s bed an outfit was laid out, made up of clothes he’d never seen before. A black suit with a red tie to match Sherlock’s skirt, a pair of dress shoes, and various gold jewelry, including a few rings and a beautifully intricate watch. Sherlock noticed that John gawked at the watch.   
“On loan from Mycroft,” he said, answering John’s unspoken question, how had he afforded all of this. “Get dressed.” Sherlock said, but didn’t leave.   
“Uhm, Right.” John said, pulling his jumper over his head. When John pulled down his trousers, he caught Sherlock snickering and quickly looked up, finding Sherlock finally turning away and laughing. “Sherlock,” He said, a bit of anger flaring through his embarrassment.   
“Oh, John, not you,” he said, still laughing, “But why are your pants red?” John’s face heated up.  
“Why is that funny, Sherlock? I’m almost sure you don’t even have any pants on currently.” Sherlock’s face grew serious.  
“I don’t,” he said simply, turning back toward John. “Finish. The shoes are the best part.” John did as he was told, Sherlock moving forward once he was done.   
“Sherlock, why are the trousers so long?”  
“Because, John, the shoes.” Sherlock picked one of the dress shoes from the bed, pushing John lightly to sit on the bed. He kneeled in front of him. That was a sight. Sherlock’s hair tousled and smelling of fruit and flowers from what he assumed was a woman’s shampoo, his eyes ice blue and framed by those lashes, his red lips so close...John looked up when Sherlock bowed his head to take John’s stockinged foot in his hand. “These shoes are the opposite of mine,” Sherlock was saying. “The heel is invisible from the outside, but on the inside adds a bit of height to your short stature. Just enough that we’ll be more easily believable.”   
Sherlock finished, sliding the shoe onto John’s foot, then did the same with the other. When John stood, his trousers hung perfectly, not touching the ground were before they had pooled at his heel.  
“How did you know all this would fit?” John asked, incredulous at the perfection.  
“Well, do you remember the case with the hound at Baskersville?” Sherlock asked and John nodded, “and how I had mentioned that you had lost an entire Wednesday without knowing once?” Again, John nodded. “Well…”  
“You drugged me again?” John asked, feeling a bit pissed.   
“No,” Sherlock said. When John caught on, his eyes narrowed.   
“That was forever ago, Sherlock. You couldn’t have known this case would come up.” Sherlock simply raised his brow and left the room, spinning on his heel.   
When they got into the cab, John felt perhaps he should have some sort of information pertaining to the case. So he started asking questions.   
“Who are we looking for at this party?”  
“I’m not sure yet.”  
“And you got the case from lestrade?”  
“Yes, he’ll be there, along with Mycroft.” Sherlock smirked.  
He was recalling the conversation he had had with the DI a few days earlier. He had alerted Sherlock to a tip he had gotten about a possible theft that was planned for a New Year’s Eve party. Lots of wealthy individuals in attendance, though mostly a party for businessmen meant so they could leave their wives at home. Sherlock had hatched his own plan quickly, looking at Lestrade.   
“I’m sure Mycroft will be there if I am,” he said bitterly, “So I need you to do me a favour. I need you to be his date.”  
“Wh-what?” Lestrade had stuttered, completely surprised by the request. “I didn’t realize that Mycroft was--”  
“He’s not.” Lestrade’s face fell a bit. “At least I don’t think so. But a gay couple are sure to accumulate more attention than a sugar pairing, especially in this setting. It would help to keep guests from suspecting John and I. Besides, Mycroft is one of the few people I know who has a stick far enough up his arse to fit the role as people would expect him to.” Sherlock had already spilled the details of how he and John were going to appear. Slowly Lestrade nodded.  
“Yes, alright. I can be part of the distraction.”   
“Good, I’ll talk to Mycroft, make him believe it’s his idea, and I’m sure he’ll send a car for you. Don’t be intimidated by him; he won’t hurt you.” Sherlock had turned to leave the DI’s office, but just before stepping out turned back. “He’ll probably offer you money to spy on me.” And with that, left the station.   
“Sherlock,” It was John, sitting in the cab beside him. “What is our suspect going to be doing?”  
“Stealing.” Sherlock said. “There will be many women wearing expensive jewelry and men with fancy watches, much like the one you’re wearing. There’s also going to be a display at the venue, imported jewels or something that are going up for auction later in the year. Lestrade is considered he may be targeting them.”  
“So, how are we going to know who it is out of all the guests?” Sherlock smiled, turning to look at John.   
“We’re going to observe.”


	2. New Year's Eve Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to catch the bad guy! And also snog in the back of a cab!

When they arrived in downtown London, they stood in front of an impossibly tall building, watching flickering lights all the way to the top.   
“Come along,” Sherlock said to John, pulling him up to the door. A large, bristling man stood at the entrance. John walked up to the podium behind which the man was standing.   
“Hamish Melbourne and Cheryl Tames.” John said, using the names Sherlock had given him in the cab. The man nodded and gestured that they could enter.   
“Cheryl? Really?” John asked. “And Hamish? You know I hate my middle name.”   
“Yes, but now you can call me Sher and no one will think it’s out of place,” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear. They were walking down the hallway toward the party after leaving their coats. Sherlock had been trying for months to get John to pick up on the pet name, but the man truly was oblivious to everything.   
The party was posh. There was no other way to describe it. People lounged on sofas sipping on scotch, gambled, mingled. Classical music was being played on the piano and a few couples were lazily waltzing. Mycroft and Lestrade where already there; Mycroft was, of course, rather good at this. Sherlock was watching him as they entered, wondering how he managed it and also how people were reacting to Lestrade. Upon inspection, Sherlock noticed that the men (and their much too young dates) were being polite and tactful while the slight tenseness in their body language showed their slight unease. Good. Well, not good really, but for their purposes tonight, good. Sherlock was still taking in the room when John led them to a sofa by one of the large room’s lit fireplaces. John sat first, expecting Sherlock to take a place beside him, and gasping unexpectedly when Sherlock plopped into his lap.   
“Quiet,” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear, acting as though he was nuzzling the man’s neck. “They’ll think we’re faking if you don’t play along.” John snaked his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, pulling him tighter against his chest and holding him in place. Sherlock’s position was innocent enough, just enough to signal to the room the type of relationship the two had, but not enough to draw extra attention, the way Mycroft and Lestrade were doing. The way Sherlock was whispering into John’s neck, however, had him feeling a bit fuzzy. A waiter came over, offering flutes of champagne, and John accepted two of them, holding one out to Sherlock.   
“I’m far more of a lightweight than you, Mr. Melbourne.” Sherlock purred against the shell of John’s ear. “You probably ought to drink both,” He finished saying as his tongue lavished behind John’s ear. Sherlock felt John’s trousers tighten a bit under him, a reaction neither of them had been expecting, but when John looked to assess Sherlock’s reaction, he pretended as though nothing had happened. Sherlock was resting against John, actually paying attention to the room now. He’d had his fun, what he’d been waiting for his chance to do, now he needed to focus. He noticed one man stuck out from the others and that the woman the man had walked in with was sitting alone on a sofa against the far wall while the man was mingling and appraising the others in the room. But it wasn’t sexual appraisal, at least not entirely. His pupils weren’t dilated and he wasn’t moving in on any of the other guests, just showing a facade of experience.   
“Watch me, I may need to you come after me,” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear before standing gracefully and walking to a waiter that was standing nearby the man and those he currently spoke with. He started a quiet conversation with the waiter, something about what they were serving and other details that were appropriate to ask.   
Just as Sherlock had hoped, the man excused himself from the other’s company and walked over to where he stood with the waiter, pretending to need a glass of champagne.   
“Why are you interrogating the poor waiter, miss?” the man asked, appraising Sherlock. The waiter caught a glance from the man and disappeared. “If you’re that bored of these stuck up old fellows, perhaps you’d enjoy the party upstairs a bit more.” The man’s eyes looked darkly at Sherlock; this was not the same as how he’d looked at the others, it was different. He wrapped an arm around Sherlock, resting a hand on his hip and slowly leading him to the hall. Sherlock was hoping that John had been watching as he was led up the wide curving staircase.   
John had been watching. And wondering what the hell Sherlock was doing. He assumed that had been the thief. John texted Lestrade and slipped into the hall. He could hear Sherlock giggling as though he were drunk as the man led him along the balcony above. When John could no longer see them, he went up the stairs as well. There were multiple doors on that end of the hallway and John had no way of knowing which one Sherlock had been lead into. He looked at them, hoping Sherlock had left some sort of trace. He had. On the last door in the hallway, there was a smudge of dark red lipstick. John pressed his ear to the door. Sherlock was speaking, making small talk, his voice slightly higher than usual as he attempted to sound feminine. The man laughed deeply.   
“You can quit with that voice,” he said, and John could hear the bed creak as the man leaned against it.   
Sherlock’s eyes turned steel blue and sharp. The man had figured him out. But how much had he actually figured out. “Shhhhh,” Sherlock said, his air of flirtation back, “Can’t let daddy find out,” he giggled.   
“He doesn’t know?” The man eyed Sherlock. He was certainly breath-taking but upclose, his sex was more obvious. Sherlock gestured flippantly.   
“Why are we up here?” he asked. “The party is downstairs.”  
“Is it?” the man asked, tilting Sherlock’s chin up at him, making eye contact as he gently pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. Sherlock quickly made what he hoped was a believable whimper.   
John had breathed again when he heard Sherlock speak, but now, with that sound, a feeling of dread washed over him. Was he supposed to interrupt or would Sherlock be upset if he did? What if Sherlock simply wanted this? What if it was for the case? He heard the bed creak again.  
The man pushed Sherlock back onto the mattress and crawled over him, hiking up Sherlock’s skirt. Sherlock saw the man lick his lips as he exposed Sherlock’s sheer panties, leaving nothing to the imagination. Sherlock frowned inwardly. Those had been for John to admire later. Sherlock let the man lean in, pressing his face against Sherlock’s groin, before Sherlock took the opportunity to lift his leg and, with his boot placed against the man’s chest, kicked hard. The man stumbled backward, hitting the wall with a thud. Sherlock could see the anger flash across the man’s face, but it didn’t matter.  
John had heard the heavy thud and immediately bounded into the room. He took one look at Sherlock, in the bed, skirt hiked up, and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt roughly.   
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” John asked the man, John’s other hand pushing up against the man’s throat, tightening when he received no answer. The man’s wide eyes turned to Sherlock.  
“H-he was w-willing!” the man stammered, pointing behind John.   
“It’s alright, John,” Sherlock said, standing up and fixing his skirt. He walked over to the two, opening the man’s jacket pocket.  
“It’s not alright, Sherlock, you can’t just decide to go shagging while we’re on a case.” Sherlock noticed the hint of jealousy in John’s voice.   
“We weren’t going to shag.” He said, simply. Then he pulled out his phone, making a call.   
“Really?” John looked at him incredulously. Sherlock gave him a look, then spoke into his phone.   
“Hello, Lestrade. I need you to come upstairs. I’ve found him.” Pause. “Yes, the last room on the left.” He ended the call and turned back to the man, lifting his cell from him and after forcing out the man’s password began scrolling through it. When Lestrade and Mycroft entered the room, Sherlock ran down a list of evidence and John relented, allowing Lestrade to cuff the man and lead him off. Mycroft hovered for a moment, then turned to follow Lestrade down the hall. Sherlock and John looked at each other.   
The countdown had begun downstairs. Sherlock was trying to judge John’s face and having a hard time of it. He looked...angry? Perhaps. But when the countdown hit one, Sherlock decided he didn’t care. He had gone to plenty of lengths to ensure tonight would pay out how he wanted.   
He took John’s face in his hands and quickly leaned down, pressing his lips to the shorter man’s before John could register what was happening. When Sherlock pulled away, he continued to hold John’s face, scanning it for a hint at what he was thinking. He was smiling. Before Sherlock could think about it, John pulled him back into another kiss, sliding his tongue along Sherlock’s lower lip until Sherlock gave way, allowing John’s tongue to slip inside, teasing and tasting. When they came up for air, John pressed his face into Sherlock’s neck, a small whispered request making it’s way up to Sherlock’s ear.  
“Take me home, Sher.”


	3. Are you a virgin, Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys attempt to get down to it. Musings about Janine happen.

Faster than John had expected, he had his coat and was in a cab, Sherlock snogging him in the back seat. When they arrived at 221B Baker Street, John quickly tossed the notes at the cabbie and followed a determined Sherlock up the stairs and into Sherlock’s room. Now that they were home, and not in the back of a dark cab, John felt a heavy layer of awkward coat him and the room. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, his back to John. The sight of him in the lit room made John’s cock twitch against his perfectly tailored trousers. This beautiful man had kissed him and John didn’t want to let this opportunity go to waste. He’d been waiting long enough, ignoring how he felt long enough. He walked up behind Sherlock, wrapping his arm around the man and pressing the front of his trousers against Sherlock’s precariously covered arse. He could feel Sherlock’s heart pounding.   
“John,” he said, his voice low, and John had a moment of doubt. Wavering, his grip lessened around Sherlock and Sherlock took the opportunity to spin and push John down on his bed. Sherlock hit his knees, slowly removing John’s shoes.   
John was almost shaking, and when Sherlock had finished with his shoes and leaned up, placing his beautifully long fingers on John’s fly as he undid it, John couldn’t breathe. He hitched his hips when Sherlock tugged at his waistband, pulling his pants down with his trousers and removing them so he could move forward, nudging John’s legs open. John was watching helplessly. Sherlock looked up, locking John with his gaze as his slowly slid his tongue from the base of John’s cock to the tip, tasting a hint of precum leaking out. John’s breathing was shaking, but Sherlock pretended he didn’t notice as he swirled his tongue around the head. John’s hip pushed up, a silent plea. Sherlock smiled and leaned down, taking John’s balls into his mouth and sucking gently, making John groan, his head rolling back. Sherlock took one of John’s hands, leading to the back of his head, where John happily tangled his fingers into Sherlock’s dark curls. It was Sherlock’s turn to moan as John’s grip in his hair tightened, due to Sherlock licking a stripe up the underside of John’s shaft.   
“Sher. Lock. Please.” John’s breathing was heavy and he had to stop between each syllable. Sherlock stopped, sitting back on his heels. John whined at the loss of contact, but Sherlock kept his hands on John’s thighs.   
“John, what does this mean to you?” Sherlock said, staying where he was, but looking up at John.   
“What?” John was still breathless.   
“What does this,” Sherlock paused, letting one of his hands move to John’s cock, ghosting around it, his thumb brushing lightly over the head, “Mean to you.”   
John still looked confused, but finally said, “That I want you. And that you’re making it very difficult for me to get what I want.” Sherlock’s cock stirred when John said that he wanted him, but he paid it no mind.   
“What are you going to do after you get it?” Sherlock asked slowly, trying whether to decide if carrying this on was a good idea or not. He couldn’t have John feeling so awkward after that he moved out. That wouldn’t do.   
“I don’t know Sherlock,” John said, impatiently, bucking his hips a bit, “Probably sleep, like a normal person.”  
“No, John,” Sherlock said, stoking John slowly to keep him sated, “When you wake up.” John was shaking his head, absolutely confused. He didn’t understand why this mattered. Was Sherlock attempting for dirty talk and just failing miserably?  
“Go to work at the surgery, like usual. What are you getting at Sher--lock,” his voice hitched as Sherlock stroked him a bit quicker.   
“You’re not going to move out?” Sherlock asked, searching John’s face.  
“What? Sherlock, why would I--Aah...No” he said simply.  
“You promise? Even if you regret it?” John looked down into Sherlock’s suddenly vulnerable face and Sherlock changed pace to distract him.   
“W-why would I regret this?” John asked, trying to focus.   
“Just promise.” Sherlock said, now allowing his tongue to venture back to the head, glistening with precum.   
“I promise,” John said, shuttering and was rewarded with Sherlock’s mouth encasing most of his cock, hallowing his cheeks as he sucked, sliding up and down. “G-god Sherlock!” He twirled his hands back into Sherlock’s curls, guiding him to move faster. John could feel himself stiffening, so close to losing it, he prepared to pull Sherlock away, but just seconds before, Sherlock pulled his lips from John’s cock with a loud pop sound.   
“Surely three continent Watson can last longer than that,” Sherlock said, smirking. He rose from his knees and was pulled into John’s lap. Toyingly, he began to undo John’s tie, sliding his jacket off, then unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the tan skin beneath. He placed kisses along John’s neck and down his chest, pushing him back onto the bed before licking one of John’s nipples, sucking gently as the nub hardened under his tongue. John’s hands ran down Sherlock’s back and under his skirt. He could feel the thin fabric of the panties he had only gotten to glance at while they were at the party. That felt like a lifetime ago. Sherlock’s arse rested in his hands as he rutted against John.  
“Ahh, Sherlock, please,”  
“Please what, John? What do you want?” John thought about it, feeling Sherlock’s weight in his hands before standing and tossing Sherlock onto the bed. John crawled on top of him, pushing his skirt up.   
“You’re not going to kick me, are you?” John asked, lifting Sherlock’s legs.  
“No, of course not,” Sherlock answered. John leaned down, mouthing at Sherlock’s hard cock though the sheer fabric of his panties. He could taste and smell and feel Sherlock. Sherlock’s precum created a noticeable wet spot on the fabric and John eagerly lapped at it. But he wanted more. He pulled at the waistband, Sherlock’s hips arching up as John slid the fabric away and over Sherlock’s boots, to the ground. Now he was free to take Sherlock in his mouth, and he did so, tasting the saltiness of Sherlock’s glistening cock, bobbing his head up and down, tongue swirling, as Sherlock felt his thoughts begin to float. Sherlock reached up, riffling through his bedside table and pulling John’s attention from his cock. He held out the bottle of lube and John took it eagerly, noticing it was practically full. Actually, John noticed, when he went to open it, it was full. It was even sealed. Never been opened. He looked at Sherlock, confused. Sherlock shrugged.   
“I wasn’t sure if this was going to happen, but I figured I should be prepared.” was the explanation he offered up. It made sense actually. John had never witnessed Sherlock bring anyone home. But still, John stuttered to a halt.   
After a moment too long of not being touched, Sherlock’s low “John?” came to his ears.   
“Uh, it’s just that, um, this isn’t...isn’t, well you know…”  
“Isn’t what, John?” Sherlock was propping himself up on his elbows now, moving into a sitting position, cautious. John looked up at him, his brow furrowed.   
“Are you a virgin, Sherlock.” It should have sounded like a question, but it didn’t. In fact, it was more of a gasp than a real statement, a bit of surprise evident in John’s voice. Sherlock pulled away now, fully sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest. He was starting to look pouty.  
“No!” John said quickly, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s ankle. “No, it’s okay. I just, I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“Well,” Sherlock said slowly, “I didn’t think it was that important, and also, I thought that with all of Mycroft’s jabs, you would have figured it out. It’s not really that surprising, it is?”  
“Didn’t think it was important?” John asked, incredulous. “Of course it’s important, Sherlock!”  
“Why? Virginity is a social construct, and it’s not as though being one or not being one would have changed me physically in any way, so I don’t really see why it matters.”  
“Well, yeah, Sherlock, obviously. I’m a doctor for christ’s sake, I’m aware of this. But it’s not about the physical. You’ve never done anything sexual?”  
“Well, I mean, I did kiss Janine, you saw that. And she, uhm, well she tried to...blow me once. It didn’t go very well.”  
“What do you mean, ‘it didn’t go very well’?” Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it again, pursing his lips. After a moment of thought, he spoke.  
“We had just been talking, I did like her, you know, as far as people go. She was slightly more than tolerable. But then she just sank to her knees in front of me, and at first I wasn’t really sure what she was doing. Thought she might have dropped something, though I hadn’t seen her drop anything. And then her hands were on my belt, and that really was too much already. I mean the kissing was...manageable, but really. So I removed her hands, stood up, and went to the sofa to watch crap telly. She must have got the hint because she didn’t try it again.” He paused. “She made an interesting comment to me a bit later. That she ‘knew what kind of a man I was.’ At first, I thought she was referring to the fake engagement and how that wasn’t the nicest thing, you know. But now, I think she might have meant she knew I was gay. Though that’s a bit of a leap, I think. I wouldn’t need to be gay to refuse Janine.” He rolled his eyes.  
“Yes, you would.” John said, in all seriousness, almost not believing his friend’s words.   
“What?”  
“You would need to be gay to refuse Janine. Straight, single men who are obviously interested--as showcased by your affection through kissing and the fact that you actually did like talking to her--do not walk away from a blow job about to be given by a very pretty girl. Hell, straight married men don’t usually walk away from something like that!” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at that statement.   
“Don’t they? Married men, I mean.” When John looked away, Sherlock said softly, “I liked Mary, really I did. She was so interesting, and smart too. She had fooled me and easily hacked into MI6 through her phone, with Mycroft beside her!”  
“How do you know that? You’d already OD’d.”  
“Eh, I was a bit in and out, busy being gay with victorian era you.” John was laughing now.  
“What?” he asked, eyes wide, “Why on earth?”  
“I was trying to decide if Moriarty could still be alive. I decided no, and that even if he was, it didn’t matter because there are always two of us.” He trailed off a bit at that last part, remembering the final scene his mind had played for him.   
“Of course there’s always two of us,” John said, smiling as he leaned up to press his lips against Sherlock’s.   
“Oh, right!” Sherlock looked as though he’d suddenly had a moment of clarity. “Back to the task at hand, John,” he said, allowing his legs to slide back down the bed.  
“Sherlock, I wasn’t done talking about the other thing.”  
“What other thing?” John sighed.  
“It’s your first time doing this. I want to take it slow.” Sherlock hummed thoughtfully, then glanced at the clock on his bedside table.   
“Nope,” he said, popping around the ‘p’ sound. “You have an hour, eh, more like 45 minutes really.” John’s jaw dropped.  
“You’re timing me?” he asked, exasperated.  
“Oh, no. But that’s how long it’s going to be before Lestrade calls me with a case he’s been working on. It’s an odd one, so I’m going to have to actually go to the crime scene. Lots of fun,” he finished, smiling.   
“Alright then,” John said, sitting up a bit, ”you’re going to have to wait until we have more time.” Sherlock’s eyes grew wide.  
“But Jawwwn, that’s not fair!”  
“It is most certainly fair. You’re the one who neglected to tell me that you’d never done this, therefore not allowing me to plan accordingly. Now you have to wait.”  
“Well it’s not like I had expected the topic to matter much to you,” he pouted.  
“Then you’re not as a good a detective as you claim,” John said, smiling and climbing up the bed to wrap himself around Sherlock. “You’re going to need to shower before Lestrade calls. You’ve still got makeup on.” Sherlock scoffed.  
“You don’t like it?” he asked, quite affronted.   
“Oh, I do,” John assured, his voice low as he traced a finger along an even more extremely accentuated cheekbone, “but I also enjoy it much more when you look like yourself,” he finished, placing a peck on Sherlock’s nose.  
“Perhaps Lestrade could wait until morning,” Sherlock mused.  
“Nope,” John answered, jumping out of bed. “Are you going to shower or should I go ahead while you pout some more?” With that, Sherlock’s face did become pouty.  
“Why can’t we shower together? It makes more sense.”  
“Hmm, no it doesn’t.” Sherlock began to spout of all the reasons for why, in fact, it did make more sense, as John cocked his head to the side and smiled. “I’m not rubbing you off in the shower, Sherlock.” Then, John turned and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stepped under the cold water and shivered. It had been a good idea to lock Sherlock out. He wanted to do this right and re he couldn’t risk that. There would be plenty of time for shower sex later. There was no rush; neither of them were going anywhere. He found the thought incredibly satisfying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides he's tired of waiting.

Sherlock was in the sitting room. Quick, jumpy notes were flying from his violin when John woke up. He glanced at the clock and cursed, of course Sherlock’s alarm wouldn’t go off when his usually does. Now he was going to be late to the surgery. He jumped out of bed, running to the loo and taking a shower that would have rivaled those he’d taken while in the service as far as speed went. He came charging out of the loo and toward his room, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. He found Sherlock blocking his path, however.  
“Sherlock, look I know, but I’ve got to get to the surgery, I’m late and--”  
“No,” Sherlock said simply, cutting John off.  
“What?” John shook his head. “Yes, yes I need to--”  
“No, you don’t.” John pressed his fingers to his temples.   
“Sherlock, I don’t have time--”  
“Yes, you do, John. You don’t have work today.”  
“Of course I have work. I have work every day.” Sherlock hummed.  
“Yes, it’s quite unfortunate. But today, you have the flu, complete with a fever and nausea.” Sherlock was looking at John smugly, the corners of his mouth drawing up.  
“I don’t, I don’t have the flu,” John said.  
“No, you don’t. But I called the surgery and told them you do.” John scrubbed at his face with the hand that wasn’t holding his towel in place and sighed, ready to plow headlong into a lecture as to why Sherlock couldn’t just...do that. Before he was able, though, Sherlock held up his hand to silence John. “You told me that you needed time. Well, now we have all day.” John looked at him with disbelief.  
“I’m not going to reward you for being trouble.” The smug look on Sherlock’s face dropped. He suddenly felt as though he had gotten something very wrong. He hadn’t expected John to react this way.   
John saw Sherlock’s face fall, watched as the man in front of him became very small as he looked down and shuffled his feet a bit. John’s heart ached. Sherlock had been trying to do something good, and while it was selfish, it was also for John.   
“Alright, alright,” John said, “Just let me get dressed.” Sherlock’s head snapped up excitedly, then he paused, furrowing his brow.   
“Why would you need to get dressed?” John paused at that.  
“Oh, right. I guess I don’t.” They stood there, at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, before John’s hands were tangled in Sherlock’s hair, Sherlock’s lips lustily pressing wet kisses along John’s neck, and John’s towel forgotten on the floor between their feet. “Sherlock,” John breathed. “Sherlock, we probably shouldn’t shag on the stairs.”  
“Why not?” he asked, pausing for a moment. John laughed.  
“Not the first time.” Sherlock groaned.  
“I don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with it being the first time.”  
“Because you’ll remember it forever; it should be good.”  
“It would be good on the stairs,” Sherlock muttered. “It wouldn’t matter if it was the first time or the hundredth time, John, I’m going to remember being with you forever and it’s always going to be good.” John hesitated for a second, processing Sherlock’s words, their meaning, a possible change in opinion due to the new information. Sherlock could read it clearly across his face, and said after a moment, “Fine, John, fine. To the bedroom. Where we can have sex in the missionary position with all the lights off, and afterward, I’ll smoke and you’ll go have some tea. Brilliant.” In reality, Sherlock didn’t actually mind this scenario, but he did feel the need to be dramatic.   
“And what position exactly would you prefer? Missionary is the easiest to start with, though I suppose for some cowboy would be more comfortable.” John was thinking, picturing Sherlock laid out on the bed before him and then sitting atop him. Both were enjoyable images. “The lights can’t be off, though.” No, that wouldn’t do at all. He wanted to see Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“You obviously have much more experience in this area than I. You figure it out,” he said, waving his hand flippantly. John just nodded at that, and took Sherlock’s hand, leading him into the bedroom. Maybe when Rosie got back from where she was staying with John’s friends, they could turn John’s room into a nursery. It wasn’t like they’d be needing the second bedroom now. Mrs. Hudson had been right after all.   
John kissed Sherlock, hot and wet and sloppy, pushing him backward until the backs of his knees pressed against the mattress. John pulled away and pressed down on Sherlock’s shoulder until he was sitting on the bed, his eyes flickering over John’s half- hard cock.   
“Any limits?” John asked, kneeling to remove Sherlock’s pajama bottoms and pants. The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up.   
“Just one,” he said, trying to keep the smirk out of his voice.   
“Yeah? What’s that?”  
“I don’t bottom.” John paused, and then looked up at Sherlock who was looking back at him innocently.   
“Oh, that’s okay, Sherlock,” he said quickly, “it might be a bit more awkward at first, but yeah, we can do that.” John didn’t mind being a bottom; he’d done it before. He just hadn’t pictured Sherlock as a top. Sherlock’s brow furrowed, and then his eyes opened wide in alarm.   
“Are you a bottom, John?”  
“What? Sherlock, you just said--”  
“That’s not what I asked.” Sherlock’s voice was tense. John hesitated for a moment.  
“Well, not often,” he admitted, “On occasion, I don’t mind, really. If you, you know.” Sherlock’s worried expression slowly transformed into a beaming smile as he understood.   
“Oh, John! I was joking!” he said. “Could you really believe? Oh, John, come on now, you’re not that daft.” John was staring at him.  
“What? So you want?”  
“Yes,” Sherlock said, enthusiastically nodding his head. “That was sweet, though,” he said, quieter, “that you would do that. For me.” John actually blushed at that. He would do just about anything for Sherlock. Sherlock reached out for him, pulling him down so that he was on top of Sherlock.   
“Missionary then, eh?” John said, chuckling. Sherlock rolled his eyes indignantly, but they shuttered closed as John’s fingertips fluttered over the head of his cock. “Hmm, lube, Sherlock.” Eyes still shut, Sherlock reached to the nightstand, finding the full bottle of lube. John fought with the lid and poured some into his hand, warming it up, before sliding his palm down Sherlock’s stiff length. John paused.   
“Sherlock, you used the douche kit I left in the bathroom?” Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed.”I’m serious, this is important. And only warm water, no soap, right?”  
“Yes, John,” Sherlock said, irritation covering the mild embarrassment in his voice. He knew how to Google search ‘how to have gay sex’ and ‘how to bottom’. It wasn’t rocket science.   
“I know it’s embarrassing,” John murmured, “But we need to be safe.” Sherlock knew he was right and finally nodded. “Alright, this is probably going to hurt a bit, but it shouldn't be unbearable. I’m going to need you to tell me how you’re feeling.” He paused a minute, then added, “we might not get the whole way. There’s no need to be upset if that happens; it’s normal; it’s okay.” Sherlock nodded again, but trepidation was written across his face. John smiled at him and crawled up the bed to press a kiss to his nose and then his cheek and ending on his lips. “We don’t have to,” he whispered, and he meant it. If Sherlock decided this wasn’t what he wanted, that was fine. They could spend the day cuddling and have Chinese delivered and watch crap telly. It would be good.   
“I want to.” Sherlock’s voice was velvet soft and John pressed his own nose against Sherlock’s and rested their foreheads together.  
“Alright,” John said, and kissed Sherlock again, letting himself fall into it as it deepened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep the sex as realistic as possible, if anyone has any suggestions, I'd welcome them :) I promise we'll get into the more explicit stuff next chapter


End file.
